once again, on happiness

I was reminded today that we have entered a month of poetry. I hadn't remembered that April, in addition to bringing good weather, flowers, the farmers market, my birthday, and Earth Day, brings, too, a reverence for poems.

I listened to a discussion of Carl Sandburg's work, especially from the collection "Chicago Poems." It was the tail end of the radio program and so I didn't hear the names of the referenced poems, but I think surely this one must have been read and in any case, you may enjoy it, so I'll reprint it for you:

Happiness

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion. The radio commenter -- some poetry guru whose name I do not remember -- speculated if, in fact, the kind of happiness Sandburg wrote of is missing these days: the barrels of beer, accordion playing, by the river, with families gathered to enjoy a warm summer evening together. His colleague reflected that he'd seen something similar by the river where he lives, only it wasn't Hungarians but Mexicans and it wasn't an accordion but a guitar. Everything else mimicked the Sandburg scene perfectly. The first radio guy asked -- is it that the immigrants brought with them this ability to find happiness in this way? Have we lost something in our isolated and cynical view of our world? Well, I don't know that we lost it. Many of us still think that gatherings of family and friends, where there is food, gaiety, perhaps several generations in the mix, preferably (but not necessarily) outdoors, are right up there in our happiness storage shed. Or am I just speaking now like the immigrant that I am?  Happiness -- here's one little person's take on it: utter giddiness comes from waking up on a Sunday morning at the farmhouse, bouncing out all smiles and giggles, running to pull out the kiddie tub (because the big shower wont do just yet)... Happiness -- having that first bite of breakfast... ... then soaking in that baby tub (even though you're way past that age), then helping grandma cook up pancakes for a second breakfast -- this one with everyone. Yum! Take in every last bit of maple syrup! Did you eat all your fruit, ahah? Happiness is woven into the outdoors. It's found in believing that one of the chickens will finally let you pet her. So close! If not, well then you can share a croissant together anyway. (While the big black hen sits on her roost and waits for that egg to pop out.) The day isn't sunny and we could wish for slightly warmer temperatures I suppose, but I'm stuck on the idea that maybe it's not necessary. As a gentle rain comes down, Ed and I transplant strawberries and fill twenty-eight pots with emerging berry bushes, with the hope that they'll actually gives us the berries, rather than handing them over to all the other animals that live here, on the farmette. Too, we clear the asparagus bed, and dig up weeds that have taken over the flower field by the sheep shed. Evening comes and I go back to my earlier thoughts about Sandburg's poem. A crowd with their women and children. Food and maybe music. By a river. Or maybe even just around a kitchen table. (Stealing mushrooms...) (Getting him to read her a story of her choice...) Perhaps this is why she loves the polka clips so much... The accordion!

April

At last! The month that no one calls "winter" anymore. And what a sweet beginning to April! Sunshine and warmth -- your perfect combination for us winter weary Wisconsinites.

Breakfast? Sun room! Yeah!






Suddenly, there aren't just the occasional narcissus sprouts and floundering crocuses. Everything is moving rapidly forward. The growing season is now fully upon us. (And I am in my usual finger wagging chastising mode toward the cheepers, who love my gardens as much as I do, though for very different reasons.)






On these off-season Saturday mornings, my daughter and I have been taking Snowdrop to the Performing Arts Center where there are varied musical performances for a very young audience. Today's show was a little unusual -- a puppet story, done in the traditional Taiwanese fashion. I think it was over the head for most of the kids in the audience and Snowdrop proclaimed not so quietly that she "did not like this song," but it was a fun outing nonetheless: she enjoyed her fish crackers during the show...






... and afterwards, loved her walk with us to the Capitol Square, where we popped into a toy store and she took to the scooter-bike like a kid who was training for the big league.






Driving back to the farmette, I just couldn't get enough of that feeling of a seasonal turning point. This is the time to turn your attention to the outside world.






(So much to admire...)






(So much!)






And we did just that: Ed and I sat down to do out annual planting of tomato seeds. I told him that we really must show restraint and so we limited ourselves to 100 plants.






Toward evening, Snowdrop came to the farmhouse for a sleepover and I had her plant a few seeds as well. Did she like pushing tiny seeds into dirt? Yes she did! Does she know that someday she'll eat a tomato from that tiny seed? She will by summertime.






I was ready to go inside and finish making our pizza then, but she had other ideas.





It took a while to redirect her indoors. I would imagine that many kids in Madison tonight felt like they were finally set free from the constraints of coats and hats and who knows what else. Oh, but it's good to be moving into April at last!


Indoors, Snowdrop is as always happiest when we both play with her. I added a tiny set of Duplo legos, thinking that a pizza joint would get her imagination rolling, and she did like sticking all the pies in the oven, but what tickled her most was the motorcycle that came with the set. Here's Ed, answering all her million and one "what's that?" questions, in this case having to do with the motorcycle.






A quick run with Rosie...






And it's dinner time.  As usual during these weekend sleepovers, we watch a nature show during our pizza meal. The number of "what's that" questions grew and grew and grew. Snowdrop is really wants explanations!





(What's most gratifying about the photo above is that it's after 7 and there's light pouring in through the windows. Oh, how I love spring!)

Suddenly I see that it is way past her bedtime and so now I have to turn on the no machine: no, it's not a good idea to go out now. No, the sled wont glide if there is no snow. No I don't think reading thirty books is in order. No I don't think Rosie wants to go shopping just now...

But yes, there is a moon outside and it's shining brightly on us all tonight.

Friday

A small twist in a day and suddenly, everything is different, novel, clever!

A simple thing (on this cold and gray March day): Snowdrop's school is closed for parent teacher conferences. I flip my time with her: from second half of day at the farmhouse, to the first half of day at her house.

I wake up and get going. Really early (for me) and really fast (for me)!

Breakfast! Hurry, Ed! Hurry hurry hurry!!
Ed: I'm not in a hurry...






At Snowdrop's home. On time. Phew! Parents go off to their conference with the teachers (the girl is doing great!), then to work. Snowdrop and I play rockets and trucks until she tells me: the trucks are too loud.





She settles into fixing the roof of her play house with a wrench and screws. That sounds ambitious, no? I put her up to it.

And then I say the magic words: do you want to go out to a special lunch with me? In a restaurant?
You'll think the magic word is "lunch" or "restaurant," but no: it's "go out!"







She states her preferences: we should go out to a bakery where she can have a croissant. Well fine with me! She is a cheap lunch date!

We go to Madison Sourdough. (In the parking lot, she encounters urban art.)






At the bakery/cafe, I order for her both the croissant and a grilled cheese sandwich with fruit. She eats both. (I set up the camera for a time release.)






Another patron offers to take our photo. Sure! I mean, how often do I get to take Snowdrop out to lunch! A cheap lunch at that!






We go for a short walk after and she is my best companion, admiring everything, describing it all, asking questions, pointing to our reflection in the glass displays...






Okay, back to the artsy parking lot...






Then home. Her home.

She is full of energy! As the cats watch, we dance!
















Afternoon. It's surely past her nap time. Never mind. Her parents come home, she settles down, I retreat...






Not a big switch in the scheme of things, but it's one that has me thinking: do I take for granted all that is handed to me each day, because it follows a similar pattern? Do we all do that? A tiny change and I see the beauty of my day, all in a new light. Or at least a new shade.

I love my routines, my patterns. I prefer knowing what I'll be doing tomorrow and the next day. But I guess I like an occasional shake up too. We all need it: a chance to see something afresh.  A chance to delight in something as if we were tasting it for the very first time.

Thursday

We should be more in step with our natural world, I think. When the sun shines and the gentle breeze heralds a warm spring day, we should bounce out of bed and dance our way through outdoor pleasures.

Conversely, when the day dawns wet, cold and blustery, we should let our mellow inclinations take hold, progressing quietly, contemplatively through the hours, perhaps doing some tidying of indoor spaces and internal thoughts.

In fact, we begin the day exactly in this fashion. It's cold and wet outside and Ed and I read a bit, then talk about the issues of the day through a pleasant and mellow breakfast.






The cheepers are a bit confused by the wind and rain, but after a few attempts at scratching the fields, they retreat to a restful afternoon in the barn.






The crocuses fold up and wait for the passage of this weather front.






But Snowdrop -- she is bouncy today! Quiet and contemplative? No, not her!

Disappointed that we cannot go for a walk after school, she recovers quickly enough when I offer her an excursion to the library.







She loves our local branch and she takes in all that it offers, including great people watching and... lots of space to assert her rapidly accelerating independence.






At the farmhouse, too, she is so full of ideas, so full of adventure that I find myself waffling between indulging her creative assertiveness and protecting us both from sure mishaps.

It is a busy afternoon!

And the winds howl and the rain comes down and some of us think this is just perfect weather for a cup of tea and a good book while others feel the stir of great things happening, mellow inclinations be damned!

Maybe next time the weather turns nasty, I'll roll out the yoga mat. I can't quite see Snowdrop moving toward an hour of meditative thought just yet, but at least her exuberance would find an outlet in the practice of downward dog, or better yet -- in the floppy release of the child's pose.

Wednesday

What makes you happy? You know, so that you can't help but smile, feel all warm inside, breathe a deep sigh of contentment? I always thought that most people's lists are long and varied. There are the basics, there are the unusual pleasant surprises, there are the planned events and then of course all those little moments of beauty, peace, tranquility. So lots, no?

Ed, however, claims that his list is short. And he firmly disavows my suggestions that certain tasks that he has undertaken and which he pursues with dedication and hard work are sources of great joy. On the other hand, spending time together laughing at a clip of a late night monologue -- that pretty much tops his list. That, or working side by side on a beautiful day on some farmette project. And, he adds sheepishly last night, playing with me and Snowdrop.

People like that are rare, I think. Sure, many of us would say that spending time with loved ones or good friends are up there, but they're closely followed by other pursuits: reading, traveling, eating chocolate. Dancing, painting, baking, growing flowers. Work accomplishments. Success. Mastering the piano. Collecting antiques. Fishing. Perhaps not all these make your list, but some surely do?

I have always admired Ed's very modest approach to life and it is absolutely the case that I have simplified every aspect of my day as a result of spending time with him. And yes, what tops his list tops mine too. And still, I am the restless one. Despite Ed's reluctance to travel, I still get a thrill stepping off an airplane at some destination that I've come to love. Buying summer dresses for Snowdrop, grabbing a drink with my daughters and their beloveds, swimming at Franqui beach -- these things cling stubbornly to my list of happy moments.

Still, the more exotic stuff doesn't happen every day and I am so on board with the idea that the things around us are what gives us both copious amounts of happiness.

(I offer you a photo from last evening, taken just a few hours before we meandered toward the subject of happiness; the sun came in through the western kitchen window as it always does in the warmer months, the flowers positively danced, the little blue vase once purchased in Istanbul glowed and I smiled a genuine big smile of contentment.)






This morning, as predicted, is both cool and gray. The cheepers come early toward the farmhouse, perhaps looking for the little girl who was so willing to give them a ride in the cart.






As I prepare breakfast, I see that Trumpian real estate mogul in my day lily bed. Our resident groundhog has condos and vacation homes all over the farmette! Why can't he leave my flowers alone?!

As he scurries into his newly dug palace, I ask Ed if I would harm him if I shoveled some dirt on top.
Yep, he'll die laughing at you! -- Ed answers.






We have breakfast in the sun room just because it's brighter there, even if the sun stays behind clouds.






The morning -- the first one without appointments or must-do chores in  many a week -- flies. We linger too long over the morning meal and we continue to talk about work and play and all such stuff and before long it's time for me to go and pick up Snowdrop.

But first, a stop at the bakery. Here we go: her favorite snack waits for her.






Snowdrop, of course, is both predictable and unpredictable. Yes, she eats her favorites, but seeing Ed munch on a bunch of cheddar bunnies brings out the longing for that which is his. (Snowdrop is thrilled if you give her some of your food to try. Plateful of snails? Great! Yum! Can I have another?!)






Cheddar bunnies. A new pleasure.






Snowdrop, of course, finds great pleasure and true joy in very simple everyday stuff. Ed comments -- of course she is happy! Two people are dancing polka with her and offering her a box of cheddar bunnies! 

Yep. The basic requirements for true joy.

(Can you touch the ceiling? Almost!)






(Watching polka dancers.)






A funny TV moment watched together, a shovelful of dirt, youtube polka and cheddar bunnies. Yep: happiness.